The Interview
by Odd Affections
Summary: A reporter, assigned to cover the Jupiter 2 project, gets an audience with one Col. Zachary Smith and his unusual office companion.


**Author's Note:** This story came about from a challenge, wherein Smith has an unusual visitor.

 **The Interview**

Janie Morgan glanced at her reflection in the huge mirror. The ladies room at the complex was well-appointed with fancy tissue holders, natural light bulbs, dried flowers artfully placed on mahogany tables and a sofa. She eyed that sofa and wondered at it simply because almost no facility she had ever visiting in her many years as a reporter had such things anymore. In her youth, many companies had attached lounges like this to the women's bathrooms but not anymore.

Delighted at this fortuitous development, she dropped down into it in a rather unladylike manner. Sighing with relief, she massaged her calves which were complaining loudly thanks to her choice of high heels to compliment her dress. She knew the complex was huge but hadn't really pondered just how much walking she'd actually have to do. Sure there were golf-carts for transport from building to building. Using them had also been a big relief when they were available, but some of the larger buildings had interior layouts that seemed to stretch for miles. Her logical mind knew that wasn't the case in actuality but it still felt that way.

After a brief respite of about 5 minutes, she headed back to the mirror. Eyeing her reflection critically, she noted the fine lines growing more prominent around her eyes and lips. Time to buy more concealer, she thought, and touched up that area with some light make-up. After a reapplication of lipstick, and couple of quick flicks of her hairbrush through her golden wavy locks (Thank you Loreal and my most-excellent stylist, she told herself), she headed for the door.

Unsurprisingly, the security officer who had escorted her there was waiting patiently outside. It wasn't unusual for organizations like this one to be more than a bit paranoid about security measures, but this place really went overboard. A constant presence of security people, both male and female, was everywhere, as were the dark globes in the ceiling which she knew hid surveillance cameras. She didn't doubt there were other methods for protecting against unlawful entry. Such equipment would also protect against theft by outsiders and employee alike.

Staff members were in a near constant state of motion as the guard escorted her to her next destination. Many of the employees wore Air Force uniforms complete with their complement of service ribbons adding a splash of color to the rather boring navy colored jackets. Others wore unadorned white lab coats and the ever present ID badges. Those badges, she knew, also had magnetized encoded strips concealed inside. That allowed them entrance to various areas visitors were not allowed to see without prior approval and a proper escort. In other words, no 'accidental' detours for her.

She glanced down. Her badge simply said, in bold letters, "Visitor", as if the constant presence of the stern-faced security guy wasn't already a dead give-away. He'd proven to be just as tight-lipped as he was cautious. She'd been unable to pry any information out of him, not that she'd expected him to be forth-coming about anything, anyway. His dialog had been limited to "This way, please." And, "I'm sorry but that area is restricted." Since much of the 'area' was restricted, that meant taking long hikes to bypass said offices and labs, something her feet were not thanking her for. Several times on their jaunt, thanks to much cussing from her lone bunion, she wished for that sofa in the lounge.

It took a very long while to get to yet another set of offices. A few smiling countenances greeted her. Heads bobbed in her general direction which eased some of her tension. The head of the project, who was supposedly some high muckety-muck with a name she had already forgotten, General something or other, had pawned her off at the entrance to this unsmiling automaton build like a brick wall. The Grand-Pooba was exactly who'd she expected anyway. No doubt he was one of the leaders skilled in PR, used to fielding questions and visits from reporters and newscasters while constantly wishing he didn't need to humor outsiders. He'd ordered the security officer to take her to visit a number of people named on some official looking list.

None had given her much that wasn't already common knowledge. None had let her behind 'closed doors' and she just knew the last guy wasn't going to be any better. They were, after all, carbon copies of each other when it came to the press. Said "last guy" had only deviated from the norm in that he'd proven to be very elusive all morning. She didn't know if that was par for the course with him or if it had been intentional. After all, she'd been allowed in there as a courtesy and it had been obvious no one really wanted to chat with her. Part of her understood this. There was no air of general sloth anywhere. Everyone she'd seen had been engrossed in their work on computers, or reading printouts of whatever it was they had to read to advance their progress. Many were on phones but the snatches of conversation were limited to what sounded like professional business. Some of the offices were as quiet as a cemetery except for the clacking of keys on a keyboard, others were filled with a low, constant hum of voices.

Finally...finally, they ended up at their destination. The medical wing supposedly housed facilities for staff who got ill, plus a variety of labs for the advancement of the project, not to mention offices and support staff for the folks who participated in that end of the mission.

Near the outside wall of the building, lined with offices, all of which had a view of the air strips and landing pads, the security officer introduced her to a surprisingly elderly woman seated behind an enormous office desk. She was dwarfed by both the desk itself and the stacks of paper scattered about it. She looked up with sharp, slightly reddened eyes that slitted with suspicion when they saw her. Janie could hear the wheels turning, 'oh no, another one to deal with and more paperwork for me too no doubt!' With a moist puff of breath, the secretary, administrative assistant, whatever her title was, took the proffered paper with a quick irritated snatch of her bony fingers.

"Is he in?" the security officer inquired, ignoring her waspish attitude.

"Unfortunately," the woman answered in a wheezy voice. Suddenly she sneezed. Once, then again, and Janie could have sworn she heard a muttered "Damn him!"

Even the guard seemed a bit shocked by her vehemence. He straightened his spine even more, which Janie would have thought impossible.

After pulling out a tissue from amidst the pile of papers, she groped for the phone, pressed a few buttons and waited.

"Ms. Jane Morgan is here for her appointment with you." She waited a few seconds more, dabbing gently at her nose. "No, you can't postpone this. I told you that this morning." Her peevish voice was sounding more pissy and congested by the second. "If you are unhappy about the General's orders, I suggest you take it up with him."

There was another pause followed by another sneeze. Unconsciously, Janie took a step back. Whatever this woman had, she had no interest in letting it take up residence in her lungs. It was true she had sick time coming to her but there were few things worse than trying to turn on the creativity when plagued by the...well...plague, or whatever it was this woman had, anyway.

"I'm sending her in."

The voice on the other end of the phone got loud enough to hear. It was angry and clipped.

"I'm sending her IN!" repeated the woman with such force that even the guard shuddered. "You can't wimp out of this one."

Wow, Janie thought. Talk about interesting interoffice dynamics. The man slated to talk to me is a Colonel after all and yet he's allowing that kind of back-sassing. Interesting.

"You can go in now," the older woman said wearily, and rubbed at her eyes which had seemingly swelled further over the last few minutes.

Trepidation filled her. As Janie got ready to enter the office, she heard another sneeze. Cannons to the left of me, cannons to the right! she quoted to herself as she slipped between door and door jam.

The man, not quite as old as the secretary but still older than Janie, glanced up from his computer monitor as she entered. He was NOT pleased to see her, that much was evident in his cool blue gaze. He stood up, reluctantly, and gestured to a chair in front of his desk, another mahogany affair that was better suited to a businessman than a Colonel.

Taking a quick glance around, she noted the book shelves lining one wall. Most of the tomes were official looking. A brass coat rack stood to her right with his navy blue dress jacket hanging from a peg. She noticed the large display of ribbons. Diplomas dotted the other wall opposite the shelves and below them was a leather sofa that had the most god-awful orange pillow on it. It looked like some throwback to the 60s except that it was no longer neat in appearance. And it was truly way too large. Given the professional decor of the rest of the space, as well as his military dress and bearing, she wondered what the heck caused him to value that thing.

And then 'it' moved. She shrieked. Loudly. The intercom buzzed. "Is everything okay in there? I know you aren't the best looking thing around here, but it's not worthy of a scream either!" came the nasally voice.

The Colonel rolled his eyes. "Betty, save your comedy routines for Friday nights at the local swillery. And for your information, the lady is just fine."

"For now. Give it a few moments. She could swell up, fall to the floor gasping and need immediate intubation…"

"Spiteful woman!" he muttered as he pushed a button on the intercom. The woman's tirade was abruptly cut off. "Now, where were we? Ah yes, so sorry. Welcome Ms. Morgan…" His mouth was open as if to say more but Janie ignored him.

"What the hell is that!" she blurted out, pointing at the couch.

As if in answer, the enormous creature on the couch stretched out to its full length and regarded her with baleful eyes.

"Come, come, Ms. Morgan. Sit down. I apologize for being unavailable this morning but circumstances made that unavoidable. Allow me to make introductions if only for the sake of proper manners. I am, as you know, Colonel Zachary Smith. Or Dr. Smith if you prefer." He sighed audibly. "And my erstwhile companion over there is Lucifer's Last Stand." He threw his hands up, palms out as if in surrender. "Not my fault. Feel free to blame the breeder who apparently had a fondness for Battlestar Galactica. She gave him the pedigree name and now I and the poor beast are stuck with it. For obvious reasons I just call him Lu.

She sat down obediently as he spoke but didn't take her eyes off the leonine animal. "That is so not a cat!" she informed him after a careful inspection.

Smith shrugged. "Indeed he is. Maine Coon, technically. He's rather…large…for his breed, but fear not, he's as gentle as a kitten."

The cat stood up, displaying his full muscular length, and stretched, giving her full view of enormous canines. His ginger whorled fur was sleek and shiny albeit a bit static-y at that moment. He turned green/gold eyes back to her, jumped down and walked to the desk. Standing up on his hind legs, he swatted at a dark object on the edge of the desk, drawing it down to him. Picking it up, he sat at Janie's feet, looking up expectantly.

"Lovely!" Smith smiled, revealing white but uneven teeth. "He likes you. It's a peace offering.

Hesitantly, she reached down to pet the huge feline but the animal had other ideas. He dropped the wet cat toy right on top of the bare skin of her foot just so she could enjoy the feel of kitty drool. Then he haughtily moved out of sight around the desk.

Unable to see what was going on, the Colonel leaned back in his chair and began tapping on the keys. "Bear with me a moment while I finish this." He never got to finish however, because his prized pet immediately jumped from floor to desk top as if it were a single stair.

Jane couldn't help smirking as the man, in his attempts to be cordial, was completely blocked from view for a few seconds. He tried to gently guide the animal away but like any stubborn mule, the beast stayed put. He tried lifting it, grunting with the effort of trying to hoist it while in a seated position. Rather than resist, the cat went totally limp, bonelessly flopping right across the keyboard. Somehow she managed to stop a snort of laughter, but couldn't hide the smile.

"Lu, move it, you fat feline. Don't make me regret my decision!"

The orange and white 'kitty', as if understanding human speech, rose languidly to his enormous feet, and stood directly facing her. Which meant his back end was directly facing the doctor. His thick plumed tail swished back and forth in agitation, slapping first one side of the Smith's face, then the other, and back again.

"Be gone you despicable demon or I shall deposit you once more in the dungeon!" He nudged the butt end of the animal away from his face, but the cat resisted. Standing abruptly, Smith scooped the cat into his arms. In a heartbeat he had once more deposited the now-chirruping animal onto the sofa amidst a wildly lashing tail and a cloud of flying fur.

Once that was done, he straightened to his full height and turned to face her. "I apologize again. I'd asked for a postponement of the interview due to…" he pointed at the cat and said vaguely, "issues beyond my control. However, my superior officer could not be reached in time." He moved to lean against the desk right in front of her. "Where are my manners? Can I get you something to drink? Coffee or tea perhaps?"

"Coffee would be great. Thank you."

He poked his head out the door but before it had swung open even a few inches, Janie heard the raspy growl of the secretary hollering at him, "Don't you dare open that door!"

"Is she always that pleasant?" Janie asked as he slammed the door, a bit louder than was strictly necessary.

The answer was blunt and without his previous gentility. "She's never pleasant. But I confess she's being more crotchety than normal." He sat once more and pressed the intercom. "Betty. Send someone with a carafe of coffee, some creamer and a variety of sweeteners. Please!"

There was no response coming back through aside from a muffled sneeze, the wet sounds of a nose being blown and a loud grunt. Janie couldn't tell if it was from pain or displeasure. But it was clear "Betty" was quite unhappy and not afraid to show it.

Smith hit the button again, "And for all our sakes, ask the clinic for some Benadryl while you're at it!"

"If she is that sick, wouldn't it be wise to send her home?"

Smith sniffed with disdain. A malevolent gleam showed in his eyes. "She's suffering from nothing that a series of long and very painful allergy shots wouldn't cure."

"What's she-" Janie started to inquire then suddenly 'got it'. "Oh, the cat. She's allergic to the cat?"

"Precisely." He leaned back and steepled his fingers over his stomach.

"I didn't think pets in the workplace were permitted. At least most employers don't allow it."

Smith sighed. "Special circumstances. Are you aware of that fire over in Hanover Valley?"

"Of course, we're covering it."

"The fire department officers came and insisted everyone in our area evacuate. And obviously it would be inhumane to leave Lucifer there or cast him outside. The poor beast hasn't been outside…ever. He would be like a fish out of water. So I had the choice of putting him in a kennel or bringing him here for a few hours until I get the all-clear.

As if he knew he was being talked about, the gargantuan feline jumped back up on the desk. Despite Smith's rather cavalier description of his decision making process, the doctor scooped the animal up and hugged him, his long fingers rubbing the spot just below the cat's ear. A loud thrumming immediately filled the office.

Janie fixed a caustic glance on the doctor's face. "And you chose the more obnoxious of the two alternatives? Did your fondness for Betty have anything to do with your decision?"

Smith smiled, a decidedly evil grin, but said nothing.

"Got a hate/hate thing going on there, huh?" She sat back and crossed her legs, surreptitiously wiggling her toes inside shoes that felt still too tight. When he still didn't reply she decided not to press the issue…for the time being.

There was a light rapping at the door but no one came in. There was the clatter of a 'something' being moved outside, lower to the floor. Janie saw Smith's brow furrow for a moment then one eye brow arched. The pinched tightening of his too thin lips reflected a growing displeasure.

Glowering, he walked to the door and, after making sure the cat wasn't nearby, opened it. With a mild groan he bent over and retrieved a tray, two cups of coffee, and the requested cream and sugar. Placing the tray on his desk, he offered her the coffee and in an unexpectedly cavalier manner, prepared it for her. She took it from his large surgeon-steady hands, took a sip and sighed appreciatively.

"Perfect," she informed him.

Scooping up the second cup he went back to his chair and carefully sat down in it. He took a cautious sip of his drink, wrinkled his nose slightly but said nothing.

"Want some cream? I have more than enough in mine already."

"This is fine," he answered succinctly.

Chuckling to herself she said, "You know, I can never see why people like black coffee. It's downright awful if you ask me."

"I couldn't agree more." He looked serious as he said it.

"Ah, right, so you hate it but you drink it anyway?"

"Precisely."

Another clipped knock on the door interrupted them. A voice from the other side rasped, "I need your signature on this."

"Then bring it in."

"No you come here. You know I can't go in there."

Smith sniffed with what she believed to be feigned displeasure. The evil glint was back in his eyes.

"You certainly can. Hold your breath if you must." He smirked. He knew that wouldn't really help matters. When the door still didn't open, he surrendered.

"Very well, I'll come to you," he informed her, but not before scooping up the kitty into his arms. He jerked the door open before the woman could do anything beside gasp and backpedal. It was an impressive feat for such an old woman as far as Janie was concerned.

Betty shot him a bug-eyed bilious mixture of fury and horror. Smith snatched the paper out of her hand, walked past her into the office, put the paper down, and signed it with a flourish, all without losing his grip on the cat who was sending a volcanic cloud of fur everywhere.

Spinning deftly, he strode purposefully back into his office and kicked the door closed. Janie heard the furious voice of the admin assistant berating him amidst bouts of sneezes.

"You're enjoying yourself, aren't you," Janie observed.

"Immensely," Smith replied dryly. "Tormenting her is one of my favorite pastimes."

After taking a long thoughtful gulp of the cooling coffee, she murmured, "Why are you so…unkind…to her?"

By way of an answer he pointed to the tray.

"That tells me nothing."

"Au contraire, my dear, it tells you everything."

"I don't get it."

The cat was once more deposited on the couch where it promptly flopped over and closed its eyes. Smith looked longingly at the sofa as if he thought the cat had the best seat in the house, which he probably did.

"Cat wars a la Betty?" prompted Janie.

"Pay back," he paused for a second, "for her purposeful lack of memory." Seeing her confusion, he added, "She always brings me half and half for my coffee when I ask for creamer."

"And that upsets you?" Her confusion must have been evident on her face because he held up a hand as if to ward off an angry outburst.

"Naturally. Look, Ms. Morgan, it's not the lack of effort on her part that irks me. It's her choices. Said creamer being but one of those choices."

"I still don't get it."

"Fine, allow me to put it bluntly. We do not get along because she is perpetually attempting, in true passive aggressive style, to make me miserable. One of those aggressive tendencies manifests in how she performs her duties, particularly this one. She feels bringing me coffee in the morning is demeaning. So she, therefore, makes it unpalatable."

"Tasted fine to me."

"It would taste fine to me as well, if the creamer had not been half-and-half."

"So you are at war because of creamer?" Janie had finally heard it all, she told herself. The things folks fought over never ceased to amaze her.

He smirked at that for a millisecond before explaining, "Yes and no. We are at war because she perpetually does things such as intentionally bringing me milk even though she is fully cognizant of the fact that I am lactose intolerant."

Suddenly, it all made sense to Janie. This wasn't spite. This was paybacks, pure and simple. As a kid growing up on the DC streets, street smart and not inclined to back away from trouble, she could certainly understand this type of 'turf war'. She fished through her bag and tossed a couple of packets of dry creamer onto his desk.

That right eye brow arched again but he took them. "Thank you, my dear. You're too kind. Would that I could replace her with you. I suspect we'd get along famously."

After rewarding him with a brief smile, she pulled out her note pad. There were other ways to record interviews but she'd found that folks were less intimidated by the pen and paper method.

"Okay, Colonel Smith, would you like to summarize the project for me?"

Over the next half hour, Smith did precisely that. He loved to talk, she learned that right away, but he was engaging, had a quick, dry sense of humor, and seemed more than knowledgeable, albeit a tad evasive. She didn't blame him. That was to be expected for something top secret.

Subtly, she tried to get him to delve deeper but it was like playing chess against Bobby Fisher. The Colonel seemed to be several steps ahead of her, always dancing around the issues without giving anything away. This was going to be a losing battle, she realized. He was perfectly amenable to discussing the selection process for the special individuals destined to head for the stars. What medical and psychological requirements had to be met. But aside from that, she got nothing worthwhile.

Smith excused himself and stepped outside the office. There were voices, the female one rising amidst raucous sneezing, and then he reappeared with a satisfied gleam in his eyes.

"My dear, would you like a guided tour of the facility?"

"The whole facility?" she asked hopefully despite knowing that idea would be shot down. She wasn't disappointed.

"I'm afraid that will not be possible. Many of the laboratories are for project employees only, but there may be a few things you will find intriguing. I have a list here," he waved it before her face, "that stipulated which areas may be accessed by the press." His gaze bored into her. "And we will follow that to the letter."

With a gallant wave of his hand, Smith let Janie slide past him and out of his office. Just as they were about to exit the area entirely, he heard Betty croak in a loud but phlegmy voice. "Colonel, don't forget to pick up your Viagra refill on your way out!"

Pivoting more nimbly than Janie would have expected, Smith squared his shoulders and spluttered indignantly. "Madam, I'll have you know I've never required such things, nor have I received any complaints. Ever. You however might benefit from an immediate dip or two in the fountain of youth before its too late!" With that said, he held out his elbow for the reporter. Barely suppressing a chuckle, she wrapped her fingers around his forearm and strolled out with him.

As it turned out, the tour was even less informative than their discussion in the office had been, albeit more time consuming. When they got back to the medical wing, she looked forward to reclaiming her seat, even if it was undoubtedly covered in cat hair. The sounds of sneezes ricocheting in the outer office area was already confirming her suspicions.

Once safely ensconced behind closed doors, the Colonel pointed at the coffee carafe, silently asking her if she wanted a refill. After seeing the slight dip of her chin, he topped off her cup then did the same for himself.

"Ms. Morgan, is there any chance you'd like to join me for lunch? The officer's mess serves some excellent entrees." His formally-presented inquiry barely masked the yearning in his voice.

Janie considered. He wasn't much to look at but at least he was bright, articulate, a high ranking officer, and was someone who possessed a courtly manner she found appealing in ways she couldn't explain. It was refreshing to find that chivalry wasn't completely dead after all. With regret, she finally made up her mind.

"I'm sorry. Really, but I have to get this article typed up and online by this afternoon."

His eyes hooded slightly as if he were calculating the veracity of her statement. "Perhaps some other time then."

"Perhaps," she replied with a lilt to her voice and a flirtatious smile. The smile morphed into a grin as she noted his hopeful expression returning.

With a brief and possibly self-deprecating shrug, he turned back to his desk. Just as he was about to sit, Lucifer sat up on the couch and meowed. The noise sounded so 'small' for such a big cat, but it got his master's attention.

"What?" There was a long-suffering sigh in that one word.

Again the barely audible meow filtered toward them. accompanied by a visible squeezing and expansion of his furry sides.

"You hungry?"

The cat's tufted ears perked up. The trilled chirrup that followed sounded haughty, demanding.

Smith seemed to glide over to the twitchy-tailed feline, bowed stiffly from the waist and said in a thoroughly unctuous voice, "By your command."

The cat's chin tipped up as if to say, "You got that right! And be quick about it, you moronic minion!"

By the time Smith finished dumping Little Friskies pate into a dish, the security officer had knocked on the door and poked his head in.

"Sir, it's time for me to escort Ms. Morgan back to the security office."

Janie couldn't hide the disappointed look that flashed across her pleasant features. The day had been interesting and even entertaining but nevertheless a bust professionally speaking.

"It's been a pleasure assisting you, Ms. Morgan," the Colonel added with a slight upturning of his lips. He took her small, delicate hand in his bigger one and she was surprised by the warmth and calloused feel of it. She was even more surprised when he bent over and gallantly but briefly kissed the back of her hand.

'Well, at least the day hadn't been a total waste,' she thought as she waved goodbye to the humongous 'kitty' and the still smiling Colonel. Finally she waggled her fingers at the perpetually sniffling Betty who might finally get some peace once the office door closed. But somehow Janie doubted it. She found herself still grinning about it as she passed through the gates of Alpha Control.


End file.
